


You Should See Me in a Crown

by AgentInfinity



Series: The Kingpin [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A little, Canon-Typical Violence, FAHC, Gen, Temporary Character Death, Very very temporary, jack/geoff - Freeform, just a revolt and some violence and some background mentions of relationships, matt/trevor, michael/lindsay/gavin, no smut or romance at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: The Kingpin is tired.
Series: The Kingpin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143176
Kudos: 38





	You Should See Me in a Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I love Fiona, so this happened. She's a super-smart badass and deserves all the good things in life.

“Whatever you need to pull this off is at your disposal, of course, but this is _your_ idea, not mine,” Geoff tells Fiona, eyes thoughtful but tired as he gazes at her from across his large desk.

Something is happening here, but she can’t put her finger on it. She looks around the office at the bookshelves lining the walls, dark wood grains towering over the overstuffed couches and soft lights. This is Geoff’s unofficial office, the one where he keeps the things he truly values. It is a glorified library, albeit with more physical weapons hidden in it than a usual library. Some books gleam with their leather covers polished to perfection. Others are old, worn and damaged from time and repeated readings.

A few are ancient, but she can’t understand the languages in them, and she always feels like even opening them would crack the spines and ruin them for good.

Gentle is something she still has to work at anyway.

“Why?” she asks a few seconds later.

“Why what?” Geoff stands and slides his suit jacket back on, buttoning it (three buttons are in style again), and turning back around to look at her. He has a way of pinning people to the spot with his eyes. Always calculating, always aware, and more dangerous than most could imagine.

She finds it comforting after all these years.

“Why now? Why me? Why trust me with something like this?” He smiles at her and gives her a one-armed shrug, somehow lazy and regal at the same time. He’s had a few millennia to perfect it, after all.

“Because it’s your turn, and I know you’re capable of something big. You’ve been with us for almost two decades now. You’ve gone big before,” he smirks at her, “but never something like this. Let the city see who you really are.” She nods once and allows him to usher her out of his office. He kisses her once on the top of her head and starts toward the elevator to the garage.

“Good luck, kid,” he calls back. She doesn’t mention that, even though she looks 24, at 42 years old, she’s hardly a kid. But, to someone who’s been around since before the written word, she’s probably more like a fetus. Less than.

Jack slides out of a chair at the end of the hallway and tucks a book under her arm, taking Geoff’s outstretched hand and stepping into the elevator with him.

“Give ‘em hell, Fi.” She smiles as the doors close, and then it’s just Fiona.

She’s still missing something. This whole job almost feels like a farewell, but she isn’t sure who’s saying goodbye.

Pushing these thoughts away, she sends out a text to the crew.

 _hey assholes, meeting monday at noon. bring your big boy pants._ Now to spend the next four days lining out specifics of how to go about this gargantuan task.

***

“So, just to be clear, you’re tired of the deep-seated governmental corruption that’s been apparent in this city for at least thirty years, and would like to now stomp it out.” Jeremy is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and is fixing her with a steady, unreadable gaze.

“Uh, yep. That’s about it,” she shrugs. She had spent the last forty minutes laying out the bones of a plan to root out and eliminate the crooked people in charge of the city.

No one speaks for a long minute, so she just stares back at them. It’s a good plan, something she’d been kicking around in her head for the last year or so. She had gotten spectacularly drunk on a few bottles of bourbon about four months prior, and when Geoff found her next to the rooftop pool, she told him of her idea. She was laughing too heartily to get all the words out, but he had just grinned, wished her well, and headed to bed.

That had been that until last week when Geoff called her to his office and gave her this job.

“Well, I’m in, obviously,” Gavin says, inclining his head to her with a dangerous smile and then looking around at the group. “It’s a damn good plan, and I’m always down with Fiona to cause a little ruckus.”

“A little ruckus? A city-wide revolution, you mean?” Michael says, incredulous. He winks at Fiona though, and then changes his tone. “I’m in. Revolutions are always fun.” 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of a good, old-fashioned revolt,” Jeremy agrees, smiling and looking at Ify. “You in, Ify?”

“She had me at ‘blowing up police stations,’” he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know I’m always with you, Fi,” Alfredo chimes in, and Matt nods and smiles.

“Post Team has your back, girl,” Sarah says. That just leaves Trevor. The Fakes’ behind-the-scenes leader. He’s posted up in the back corner of the room, his scrutiny a prickle at her neck. The whole room turns to Trevor and waits. 

Sure, the majority of the original members were very, very old, and did not do anything they didn’t want to do, but Trevor grew up in this city, and has known nowhere else in his comparably short life. 

He, like Fiona, had died his first death in his twenties, and only a decade before her. But something about his quiet calculating demeanor reminded her of Geoff if he didn’t have thousands of brutal years to weigh him down.

Not everyone in the crew is immortal, but everyone in this room is, and they can probably all see what Fiona does in Trevor.

“It’s a good plan. I have some notes we can discuss after you hand out preliminary work. This is gonna be a long play, though. At least six months.”

And that was it. They were off, with Fiona leading the charge.

***

None of them were especially moral, but they did have boundaries. Being immortal meant that guilt accumulated, and most of them didn’t feel like adding to it needlessly. Sometimes it scratched a very specific itch to do some actual good in the midst of their particular brand of chaos.

 _The Night_ had arrived. Their social media campaign, started by a few well-faked dummy accounts, had taken off, sowing discord deeper with every share.

People are in the streets, protesting, revolting against the system built to keep them underfoot.  
Certain strategic areas in the city had been emptied in the days prior. Money was exchanged, promises made, safe accommodations arranged. If the Fakes come asking for something, you give it to them. If they offer you money or favors? Take it while you still get something out of it.

None of them mentioned that they would never ransack a small business or fuck up a shelter, but their reputations preceded them. Those who know that they were never in any danger respect the Fakes and can see past the destruction on the surface to the point of it all.

Fiona sucks in a lungful of smoky night air. Several things near her are on fire, but it doesn’t faze her. She relishes the electricity in the air, the adrenaline buzzing through her body. She’s leaning against a boarded up storefront a block away from the central Los Santos Police Department. Ify and Jeremy are joking around, and without reason for anyone to be muted, everyone can hear them. They’re two blocks north from her near the courthouse. Through a series of coordinated plans set up by the Support Team, the protesters had blocked off these areas that had been cleared out. They had enlisted several smaller gangs in the city with whom they were friendly to achieve this level of strategic chaos.

Checking her watch, Fiona pops her gum and pulls her hood up over her head. She’s got her trusty 9mm on her hip, her knives under her sleeves, and a sawed-off strapped across her back.

“T-minus two minutes, Fakes, everyone in position?” she asks, pushing off the brick wall of the store and strolling casually down the street toward the bank.

As the teams start to report in from various places around the city, she ticks them off her mental checklist. Jeremy and Ify are in position outside the courthouse, Alfredo has his scope on the mayor at his mansion in the hills, and Lindsay and Michael are waiting just inside the gate at the commissioner’s place.

“Team four in position,” Trevor whispers from his spot in one of the vents of the Maze Bank’s top floor. Fiona gazes at it in the distance and grins. Matt is there too in one of their computer banks, ready for his signal to rob the rich assholes of the city blind. He’s already set up automatic withdrawals from their offshore accounts over the last few months, ready for Steffy to hit the button at the right time.

For this plan to work, coordination is key.

“Post team, report.” Fiona is almost at the front of the station.

“All of us are in place. Awaiting your signal,” Ashley tells her, a smile apparent in her voice. Fiona checks her watch one last time and watches the second hand tick across the twelve.

“Fakes, we’re a go.” She strolls up the steps to the police station and stands by the door, smiling as Gavin jogs up to her from the other direction. She listens as Alfredo confirms his shot. The mayor is down. Ify and Jeremy have started their ruckus at the courthouse, where an evening meeting is taking place with three targets conveniently in attendance. Lindsay tells the commissioner to keep begging as he pleads for his life. He doesn’t succeed. Trevor shuffles out of the vent and then someone shouts, followed by gurgles and a body falling into something solid. The bank’s CEO is down.

Various confirmations of downed targets roll in through her comm from all over the city as the Support Team works through their list of targets as well.

“Prisoners have been set free, Fi,” Gavin smiles, pulling down the bandana tied around the lower half of his face, gaudy golden pistol gleaming at her from its holster. “And the charges have been set.” The hilt of his longsword also catches the reflection of the lights as he hands her a phone and turns toward the doors. Everything about him seems to shine, even at night, although the sword is much more lowkey and distinguished about it. She dials the only number in the phone and waits for it to ring, once, twice, and then the back of the building explodes.

“Ready?” she asks, moving into position.

“Always, love,” he replies, pulling his bandana back up and moving to her six. They bust through the doors and she loses herself as they move as one being, taking down targets and sending the ones not on their list running. At some point, Gavin runs out of bullets and he draws his sword. She can hear it singing through the air as he spins. She takes a baton from one of the cops she downed and swings it in wide arcs, catching one guy in the face, another across his knee, and a third she jabs in the throat before Gavin twists and nearly severs his head from his shoulders from behind.

She’s got blood spray across her face and a few bullet holes in her clothes, but the wounds are long closed. By the time it’s just her and Gavin standing alone in the middle of the bullpen, the explosions have started in other areas of the city.

The air is thick with gun powder and the coppery tang of death, and the only noises beyond the distant sounds of destruction are the panting breaths belonging to her and Gavin.

Gavin sheaths his sword and makes his way over to her, picking a careful path around the bodies and debris.

“Alright?” He places a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Ça va, mec d’or.” Calling him ‘Gold Guy’ started as a joke when the press dubbed him the Golden Boy, but it’s come to be an endearment over the last few years. She covers his hand with her own for a few seconds. “Merci.” Gavin squeezes her shoulder once and then lets go, moving to erase the surveillance footage and upload the program that would release all the restricted footage of the police department’s dirty little secrets. The program was a thing of beauty, and if Gavin was being honest with himself, it kind of made him want to take Matt to bed.

He wouldn’t, due to Matt and Trevor having...whatever it was they had, and also that he had a thing with Michael and Lindsay for the last eight hundred or so years.

In any case, the program spoke to the hacker in him, and he couldn’t wait to see it in action.

“Axial, your baby is taking her first steps.” Matt opened his comm channel with a telltale click, and sighed.

“I wish I could be there for it. I’m so proud.” The muted clacking of keys accompanied his words, and Gavin pulled out his burner and took a quick photo of the program going through its processes and pulling up videos and images to shoot out into the vastness of the internet.

“I took a picture for you.”

“What a pal.” A few more clacks and then the snap of a laptop closing signaled that Matt was about to be on the move. “I’m finished here, ready for the rendezvous.” Trevor popped his comm line open and a burst of noise flooded everyone’s ears.

“Gimme like thirty seconds to clear the floor, and I’m heading out.” A blow lands and someone shouts “FUCK” before being promptly cut off from any further conversation. “There were a few more people here than anticipated.” After a few more grunts of exertion (Trevor), some surprised shouts (not Trevor), and two silenced shots (Trevor again), a slightly out of breath cat burglar-turned-assassin-turned-chaos manager lets Matt know that he’s two minutes out from their meeting point.

With their part done, Fiona and Gavin step back out into the smoky night air, taking in the faraway sounds of sirens and chants. Her blood is singing, adrenaline spiking as she feels the city begin its rebirth out of the ashes of the old. She allows herself a few deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of this night so she can remember it, even when she’s as old as Gavin or Lindsay, or god forbid, Geoff. Gavin allows her this time, and maybe takes a few seconds for himself too. She opens a comm line to everyone and looks to the skies.

“Fakes, report,” she orders, jogging down the steps with Gavin at her heels.

“Team J and the Sauce are at the rendezvous point. We’re oscar mike as we speak,” Michael informs her.

“Tim and I have dispatched targets and set the farewell package. Headed back to base,” Ify’s voice gleefully rings out. His love for explosions is only rivaled by Michael’s, and honestly, it might be a toss up these days.

“Same here, no hitches for Axial, like at least five unexpected hitches for me,” Trevor gripes.

“Glad you’re still breathing then, darling,” Gavin interjects, snorting. Post Team members chime in, mostly all done with their parts.

“Team OG, We’re ready for our exit, if you don’t mind.” Geoff and Jack have been scarce, only showing up to a few meetings and even then, not involving themselves more than the bare minimum. Jack agreed to run exfil on a few teams, and Geoff decided to ride along.

“Coming right for ya,” Jack responds, chopper noise bursting to life behind her words. Fiona can hear them in the distance already.

In a few more minutes, they will have executed Fiona’s plan to perfection.

So, clearly, that’s where things go to shit.

Fiona and Gavin head toward the chopper as Jack touches down in the middle of the street, both a little giddy at how easily the night has gone. Neither of them even died in the fight. None of the Fakes did as far as she’s aware. One second she’s reaching up to pull herself into the chopper, looking up to make a joke with Geoff, and the next Gavin is yelling to run and she’s flying forward into the floor of it, her back on literal fire. Half of the chopper is fire, and the metal she’s laying on is red hot against her exposed skin, burning her further.

She can hear Jack screaming at Geoff to wake up, Gavin is swearing in languages she’s pretty sure are dead as his sword clangs against something, and her vision goes hazy at the edges as the fire shorts out her nerve endings and the pain begins to recede.

Then the helicopter explodes and she knows nothing else for a while.

When she gasps awake, Gavin is kneeling next to her in an alleyway, using his bandana to wipe at her face. The new skin pulling together over her burns feels tight and itchy, and she doesn’t immediately move. She pinches her face at the feeling of shrapnel being forced out of her flesh but meets Gavin’s eyes, and a tiny bit of relief bursts from his expression. She sits up and coughs, spitting and heaving as her body rejects the debris and smoke in her lungs. She’s at least glad that her broken bones reset themselves while she was unconscious. Dead. Whatever.

“Jack and Geoff?” she rasps out, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“They’re already on the move. Jack got Geoff out before the chopper exploded. You were hurt, ah, _worse_ than either of them.” Gavin is steady, but shaken.

“Je vais bien, Gav.” He smiles, but it’s tight. He hands over his jacket to cover her bare back. She zips it up and hopes that her pants are still covering her ass.

“Most of your back was gone, and then once the chopper went, most of your head did too.” That makes Fiona grimace, but it explains the phantom tingling in her limbs. Spinal injuries and bad burns fucked with their nerves, and to have both at the same time meant spending a good few hours making their brains remember that everything would still work.

“What happened?” she asks as Gavin helps her up and moves toward a motorcycle parked in the alley.

“We must have missed someone in the station. And apparently, not all the rocket launchers are stored with the rest of the weapons we blew up.”

As Gavin deftly hotwires the motorcycle, Fiona climbs on behind him with shaking legs, willing her brain to remember that she’s fine now.

In no time, they're hurtling down the freeway headed toward the base to debrief and assess next steps. The wind whips at her face and finally clears the fog in her brain, and she whoops loud and free, feeling Gavin’s laugh as she keeps her arms wrapped firmly around his middle.

(Much later in her life, she will remember the smell of the air outside the station, the electricity of the crowds, and the feeling of elation as she and Gavin zip down the road. Sensations in which to anchor her memories.)

***

The next day, when everyone is sleeping off the night of penthouse revelry, she finds Geoff back in his office leafing through a book that looks like it’s five seconds from disintegration.

“Congratulations, Boss,” he greets her, closing the book and resting his hands on it.

“Boss, huh? I like that. And thank you.” She slumps down in a chair and stretches her legs out in front of her. He gazes at her for a few long seconds, expression unreadable, mouth slightly quirked up at the edges.

“So, I think it’s time for me and Jack to move on. It’s about that time. A couple decades in one spot is really pushing it these days.” Fiona furrows her brows and sits up, trying to puzzle out the feeling that’s been nagging at her ever since that night in this room all those months ago. Geoff’s tired eyes, the exhaustion clear in every line of his body.

“Move on?” she asks, dumbly.

“Yeah. We would have a few years ago, but we weren’t sure about succession. And the city was such a fucking cesspit still. We were trying to figure out the right exit strategy when you got drunk and shared your idea with me by the pool.”

“Okay?”

“You pulled off one of the biggest operations this crew has ever done, and you did it well. Made it look easy.”

“I took a rocket to the back,” she reminds him.

“Yes, but that was after most of the other shit was done. It doesn’t detract from your success.”

“Geoff, what are you saying?” she asks bluntly, a rock the size of a boulder making itself known in her stomach.

“I’ve found my successor.” The bastard smiles at her, teeth and all.

“No.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because you saw the suffering that was going on in the city and made plans to do something about it. All you needed was a push, and you pulled off the impossible. You were sharp and pragmatic, and that’s what it takes to lead this crew. To run this city.” Fiona gapes at him for a few moments, at a loss for what to say. When she finds her voice, it’s quieter than she expects.

“What about Lindsay? Gavin? Hell, even Trevor? They’re all older than me. I’m an infant compared to you.” She’s standing now, without any idea when it happened.

“Lindsay doesn’t want to lead. She was a queen once, and it didn’t go well.” Fiona files that away for another time. “Gavin could do it, but not as well as you. Trevor would be a good fit with you, but not alone.”

“Geoff, I can’t do this.” She’s leaning over his desk now, looking into his eyes and wondering how no one else realized how truly exhausted he is.

“You can. You already have.” He slides the book across the desk to her. “This is for you. It’s stories and such I’ve written down over the years.” She gingerly opens it and rolls her eyes.

“I can’t read this. Geoff, I doubt anyone besides you can read this.” It’s in a language that’s mostly symbols that she’s pretty sure she’s seen photos of on cave walls in museums.

“The stuff toward the back is more relevant to the present day. And it’s in English. Mostly. I’ve been writing in this book for a very long time.”

“How can I possibly do this job?”

“You already know. Don’t fall into the trap of doing things like I do. I’m sure if you think about it, you already have the next steps mapped out. Trust your instincts and keep our family close. That’s how you do it.” He stands and walks around the desk to her. He presses his lips to her forehead for a long moment and whispers something that she can’t understand.

“Jack and I will still be around from time to time. You can call us if you need us. But I think we’ve earned a break.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her toward the door. “I’ll announce it tomorrow at the meeting.”

The next day finds Fiona standing in front of everyone, in a blazer, slacks, and a high ponytail, looking every bit the new Kingpin. Geoff had made the announcement, and after a few seconds of silence, Gavin nods his head at her and the others follow suit. Plans are prepped and goodbyes are made. Geoff and Jack leave the room, and Fiona takes a few seconds to tamp down the anxiety. She’s got this. This is her city and her crew. She dismisses everyone but Matt and Trevor.

Matt broadcasts a video package that afternoon to all televisions, computers, and phones in the city.

Fiona is sitting behind a heavy, mahogany desk and the lighting has been set up to obscure her face just enough for facial recognition software to fail to find any matches. Her pinstripe blazer and her perfect manicure are fully in view, as are her sly red lips.

“Los Santos, look how easily you took this city. It was the people who took back their city and freed themselves. Don’t forget the power you have. And don’t forget who allowed you to take it.” She grins, lopsided and dangerous. “There’s a new Kingpin in this city, and she doesn’t suffer fools lightly.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, guys I deleted my other AH work because of reasons, but I really do love Fiona and needed to show it. Also, I highly recommend The Old Guard on Netflix if you haven't seen it for some good ol' gay immortal badass found family. I've somewhat modeled Gavin after Nicky here. Comments, kudos, and [tumblr](http://missxmolotov.tumblr.com) comments are all accepted. ❤️❤️


End file.
